


fall of the kings

by jostenia



Series: heir to the thrones [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, End of the World, Multi, Other, Violence, an excuse to write characters and a plot that's been sitting in my head forever, i'll add more characters as they show up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-20 03:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9472703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jostenia/pseuds/jostenia
Summary: a nation knows when their end is coming. it's not a sudden thing. it's instead slow, inevitable. you live everyday knowing one day you will die and someone else will take over. they know because every end of a nation, an empire, is accompanied by a child. a protege. a heir. someone to take over when the end comes. rome. greece. egypt. prussia. they all had heirs. there hasn't been a new child nation in years, though. decades.or so everyone tells each other.if they had only thought to let others in on their secrets they could have prevented what was coming.





	1. prolouge

There have always been signs to the fall of a nation. The collapse and rebirth. Humans poured over them in history class. New political leaders. Failing infrastructures. Economies that stay stagnate. Takeovers by other countries. Cultures that die. There’s a list. They repeat them over and over again, memorize them for tests.

For the Nations themselves--- the heart and blood of the people, personified into living, breathing things--- there are other signs. Slight differences. Fatigue. Hurt. Injuries that won’t heal. **AGING**. One sign, however, stands above all the rest as the worst. The true symbol of the end. You know without a doubt when you see it that your time is coming, you’ll die soon.

It comes in the form of a child.

Small, unassuming. Innocent children who know nothing but a pull, a connection, to your own people. Your own culture but in ways different than you now. It happens to nearly all countries. All cultures. A sign of the changing times. A sign of your death. Rome had two. Greece had one. Even Prussia had one. His protege. His little brother. He fell shortly after his arrival, after all, didn’t he?

The current nations had no such prophecies of doom. Of their death.

At least--- that’s what they told each other.

Had they not kept the truth from each other, in the end, perhaps they could have helped each other. Prevented the catastrophe that was coming. Prevented the end. After all, with so many nations having ‘heirs’ it could have only been a sign that something awful was coming. Something life altering. Something that would go down in history.

On november 7th, 2024, it finally happened.

It had been unnaturally hot that year, temperatures spiking above and beyond what everyone considered normal. Even in Denmark the heat was in the 30s--- and still rising. World leaders were at a loss. The Nations themselves--- they were just as loss. Fighting and blaming had begun and it grew worse with every meeting. Denmark held the latest one, which, with the broken air conditioner and angry attitudes, was swelling to an end faster than anyone had anticipated.

3 PM.

The sky blackened, just for a moment, and then a crack went off, heard everywhere around the world. Louder than thunder, it shook houses to their foundations, toppled items over. There was no time to react from the noise, though, because as soon as it hit your ears--- then came the heat. Hotter than anything. It was like a bomb had went off, simultaneously, across the world. People standing outside on the streets died. Buildings melt. Steel curled in on itself. Dry fields caught aflame. Electronics dimmed and died in your hands.

It lasted a moment, maybe two, and then like that it was gone. A thick humid taste was left in the after shocks, sticky and uncomfortable to bear. They thought it was over. That was that.

And then came the earthquakes.

And then the floods. ( _when ice melts what are you left with? water. condensation. water water water. water everywhere and not a drop to drink._ )

Gasses, oils, acidic rain, it all rushed into the water. It’s untouchable now unless you filter it. Ash rains from the sky from fires that can’t be put out across the world. It’s almost inhospitable.

But humanity manages. Humanity has a way of coming back from the flames anew. Countries can be remade. New societies can emerge. New cultures from the ash.

And those ‘heirs’ to the nations, little warnings of what was coming?--- Well. It’s a new world to shape how they want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm fucking trash. anyway. hi. this is all because years ago i rped hetalia characters and some had kids and well. i wanted to use those original characters again. so here i am. making an entire universe and series for these characters. i'm trash. i'm sorry. i know.
> 
> canon hetalia characters WILL be showing up, though! eventually. for now though, enjoy this. i'll do little introduction posts as each new character shows up i guess. the story will have several povs, the main being one of the heirs to belarus, an existing culture (cornwall), a heir to egypt, a heir to germany, and a heir to america who appeared after the end.


	2. chapter one | sofiya

Her first memories are of  _ darkness _ . It stretches on forever in her mind. Black skies. Dark rooms. Rotting books tucked away in corners. She can sometimes remember, if she thinks back hard enough, a small face with green eyes, a harsh sob, hands that touched her face in the dark and whispered words she didn’t have the best grasp on yet. ( _ no. no. not yet.  _ **_no_ ** _. _ ) But the memories are faint--- distant--- and she doesn’t know if she made them up in her loneliness or not.

 

And then, in all that darkness, there was a bright spot. 

 

Natalya. 

 

Natalya Natalya Natalya. 

 

Her sister.

 

( _ her’s. her’s. her’s. in a world of rotting things and darkness she had one thing that was whole and beautiful and her’s _ .)

 

She brought her food. Held her. Named her. Sofija, she’d say. And that was who she was, now. Sofija. Sofija. 

 

And, over time, she grew. The little house in the dark got smaller and smaller. She got bigger and bigger. Her mind grew with her, curiosity blossomed in her chest. She could no longer be contained in that little house. Not in mind. Not in body. Not in spirit. So natalya came one day and sent her away. Packed her bags and off she went. She lived with so many people in those following years. Learned so many things. ( **we are belarus** _ , the men in suits with guns would say. she’d stay with their families and watch them closely. they chose everything that happened in the country. they had the power. sofija wanted to be like them. wanted control over herself more than anything else. _ ) 

 

She went to school, learned what other children learned. ( _ we are belarus, the teachers said. we are the heart and blood of this country. the people. the masses. we are belarus. _ ) She was different from them, this she knew, though. The other children--- they aged differently than she did. Faster.

 

_ they’re human _ , Natalya said one visit.  _ and what are we? _   She asked. 

 

( _ we are belarus. _ )

 

Sometimes when Natalya visited she’d bring another girl. Brown in hair to sofija’s pale blonde. Green in eyes to her blue. Her hands were calloused while Sofija’s were soft. Her clothes dirty and torn compared to Sofija’s clean, pristine clothes. And yet, as different as they were, their noses were the same. The crinkle under their eyes. Their jaw. Their chin. Natalya didn’t have to tell her for Sofija to know. They were the same. Sisters. This girl wasn’t human. She was like her. 

 

( _ we are belarus. _ )

 

Milena. That’s what Natalya called her. And Sofija hated her from the start. This girl, ( _ tiny green eyes in her sleep, eyes attached to hands that held her own tight. little whispered voices, _ ) that had what Sofija did not. Had Natalya. She had to. Where else would Natalya be during the year if not with her? She had the attention and love of someone Sofija desperately wanted.

 

( _sh_ _ e had so many things now. books. clothes--- yet she lost the very first thing she ever had. her sister. her sister. she didn’t want to share. _ )

 

It was rare when Milena visited, though, once every two, three years. Natalya visited consistently more. Once a year. Brought a gift with her. ( _ your birthday, she’d say. Sofija thought  _ wrong wrong wrong _ but didn’t correct her. she didn’t know when her birthday was. not yet. _ ) Beyond that she spent her time in boarding schools or lived with politicians. It was boring. Tedious. Repetitive after a while but, she stayed. 

 

At least until the end came. 

 

( _s_ _ he knew that’s what her people called it. the end. the rapture. _ )

 

November was hot. School had started again but, Sofija felt something stirring under her skin as the days stretched on. A warning? A sign? Something. She couldn’t sit still in her sessions and left for the library where she tucked herself away with a book in a far corner. ( _da_ _ rk corners, rotting books. _ ) She didn’t hear the boom, too enraptured--- but she felt the heat. Felt the screams from everywhere at once, all inside her, felt the pain of some part of her just  **STOPPING** .

 

She curled on herself and screamed. Wept for something, she didn’t no what, and missed the creaks of the dry wood of the library as it caught flame. 

 

And when the building collapsed--- she really couldn’t move. Not at first.

 

Three days later she finally pulled herself from the rubble and stumbled back home to the politician that housed her. The that called her ‘ _ our future _ ’. Found his corpse, blackened as the sky outside and buried him. She waited for her sister to show up, come to rescue her--- but found nothing. Only ash from the sky, starving dogs, and looters that she fended off with a pistol she found in the study.

 

When it became apparent her sister was not coming--- Sofija decided something.

 

_ i’ll leave _ , she said. _ i’ll find you. _

 

(She refused to believe that feeling she had--- a part of her ending and no longer existing--- was Natalya.)

 

She had heard once Natalya speak of other people--- things like them. 

 

( _s_ _ ofija knew they had to exist. she saw maps. read history books. traced over names that had damaged their country. held them captive. ruined them. _ i’ll kill you. i’ll kill you. i’ll make you pay for what you did.) 

 

tolys. feliks. ivan. katya. 

and what are they, natalya? what are they? 

my family. 

 

If Natalya wasn’t with her--- she’d be with Milena or them.

 

Family.

 

* * *

 

 

Her burns blistered across her face and shoulder, bubbles that grew under her skin. Sofija had been in pain before. Once, when she was smaller than she was now, ( _ sixteen is what her papers said when she applied for school again. she’s been sixteen two years in a row now _ ), she had broken her arm playing. It had hurt--- but not like this. This was a different hurt. This was a hurt like when many people died. She knew this. Natalya had told her once. 

 

_ you’ll have a great pain, sometimes.  _ S he said.  _ when our--- your people die. it’s a hurt that won’t go away. not for a long time. _

 

Sofija was strong. she was brave. She was belarus. She’d push on anyway. 

 

She took her time, though, slowly and carefully. Looted the house like the miscreants outside had wanted to thoroughly. She packed books and food away in a backpack. Extra clothes. Rations. Slipped knives into her pockets and the pistol into her bag. Ripped maps from books and stored them away. Tore the sheets from beds and wet them before tying them across her left arm and up her shoulder. The burns across her face--- there was nothing she could do for those. They’d heal on their own eventually. 

 

(We’re not like humans. Our hurts only stay if they’re because of other--- things like we are. Human injuries will heal fast and leave.)

 

“I’m leaving,” it had felt so solemn, so final to say that to the empty house. Her politician guardian was dead, buried outside, and his wife and children never came home. Not in the few months she had stayed there. Waiting. 

 

(What was the month now? Had the new year gone and passed already? She’d have to find out.)

 

This had been her home. One of them by outward appearances at least, but she had to go. There was a pull deep inside her. An urge to move on. Leave. Her sister needed her. She knew this. Their people needed them. They were Belarus. It wouldn’t be whole with just her or Milena--- if Milena even lived. They needed Natalya.

 

(She needed Natalya.)

 

So she had to go. 

 

She left that morning, as the dusk stretched into dawn, painting a gray picture across the horizon. Ash fell gently from the sky, drifting downwards to collect on her lashes like snowflakes. Sofija pulled her jacket collar tight around her chin, hiding her mouth from the ash, and pushed off. 

 

She didn’t pause at the grave. Not this time. Didn’t give it a side glance. 

 

He was dead and gone. Bones to ash. She couldn’t linger on. Not anymore.

 

She lifted her ripped map up high, instead, surveyed it carefully and lingered her eyes on the dark borders south of her. 

 

Ukraine.

 

**Katya** ( _ KATYAKATYAKATYAKATYURIYYURIYTHERE’SMOREHERE _ ), her insides screamed. and she knew, she knew where she had to go.

 

She had a family to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. the true stuff begins. like i said i'll do an introduction thing each time a new character is mentioned. here is sofija arlovskaya, one of the two heirs to belarus. she'll be one of our main povs. in the original rp mentioned in the prologue notes sofija was actually sofiya cherneko, daughter of ukraine and belarus. here she's just heir to belarus.
> 
> also mentioned is milena arlovskaya. second heir to belarus. more on milena later. (milena is actually a friend's character.)


	3. chapter two | maryam

“I don’t think Abbi’s coming back, Maryam.” 

In the shade of a fallen tree stood two figures, both perfect mirrors of each other save small differences. The taller of the two wore a scarf across her hair, tying the unruly curls back from her face in the hot heat of the day. Eyes the shade of gold surveyed the river in front of her, watching the waves as they bubbled over, washing the shores with floods of water. The smaller of the two wore their hair down, it was held back by a tie for the moment, keeping the chin length wild curls back. Their eyes were green, the same color as the papyrus that once dotted the river banks.   
  
(The floods had taken the green away, though. Months ago. Now starving crocodiles dotted the banks instead.)  
  
Maryam, the eldest of the two and the smaller one, seemed to ignore their sister’s statement. They were concentrating on a bundle of wood in their hands, crouched down as they tied them together. The floods had brought more and more fish, their only source of food now, but the fires that had come before them, (and still littered in the towns, wooden buildings blazing), had killed most of the wildlife--- their other food sources. And with little food sources around now--- it meant the jackals of the north and the crocodiles of the rivers had begun to search out other sources--- aka the few survivors that were left. Traps were the only way to keep them away. The military police’s guns had run out of bullets a month ago.  
  
(Certainly you could fight them with a knife--- and Maryam _ did  _ but, it was not recommended.)  
  
“ _ Maryam _ ,” The taller one’s eyes narrowed, her head turning towards her sibling to shove their shoulder. “Did you hear me?”  
  
Maryam gritted their teeth, their nostrils widening as they snorted at the touch. “Rashida,” They hissed, rolling their eyes as they spoke. “He’ll come back.”   
  
Their father had survived worse than this. He’d come back. He had lived far longer than anyone they knew--- and they had lived ages now. (They knew of only one person who had lived longer than their father. But China was a mystery to the twins. They grew up in the cities of Egypt, their home was the sea and desert. Not the mountains and hills of asia.) A flood? An earthquake? Fires? He’d be fine. He was born in heat. This wouldn’t do anything to him. He’d come back. He’d come back.  
  
(He’d come back.)  
  
“You’ve been saying that for months now,” Rashida replied, face twisting into a frown. “He’ll come back. And I want to think so, I do--- but---” The golden eyed girl bit down on her bottom lip, wrenching her gaze back to the Nile. Maryam didn’t raise their gaze to meet their sister’s, to see what she was staring at, because Maryam had stared off there long enough. You couldn’t will someone to appear no matter how hard you tried.  
  
“He’s not coming back this time.”  
  
Below, crouched over the trap still, Maryam felt their blood quicken. Their heart stung for a moment, fingers curling tightly over the bits of wood until they felt them indenting in their palms. “Don’t even suggest he’s  _ dead _ , Rashida.”   
  
Rashida didn’t understand why that wasn’t possible. She couldn’t understand. Rashida was wild, a flame that couldn’t be contained. She shone in ways Maryam never could. Everyone loved her the moment they met her. She was the perfect daughter. A shining light. (Al-Manaar their leaders called her when they met her. Guiding light.) She had friends everywhere. Maryam---  
  
Maryam had father. Girls irritated Maryam. People irritated Maryam. They much preferred the company of the wilds or a book. They didn’t much make friends, agitated with western concepts and socializing. They were in the dark compared to Rashida. The earth to her sun, the moon to her blinding light. (Al-Layla the leaders called her. The night.) Father understood in ways others didn’t. The way Maryam thought and lived. He didn’t ask for anything of her like the leaders did. He didn’t wish for conversation, strained for affectionate touches like Rashida did. He was content just sitting with them.  
  
He couldn’t be gone. Dead. Dust.  
  
“Did I say dead?” The smaller girl sounded offended, her head turning back towards Maryam. This time she turned her entire body, bending down to help the other finish the trap. (Maryam could make them in their sleep now. They didn’t need help.)  
  
“I said I don’t think he’s coming home. What if he’s hurt and can’t come back on his own? Or someone took him--- we don’t know what Europe’s like now after  _ Yawm ad-Din _ .”   
  
The day of judgement. That’s what the people were calling it. The end times--- and perhaps it was. The end of everything. The apocalypse.   
  
Rashida did have a point, though. They had no idea what Europe was like now, (besides flooded, Maryam imagined), and that’s where father had last been. Denmark. A meeting. Maryam had ideas of what the continent could have devolved into, though. They already had low opinions of westerns in a civilized society. Who knew what horrors they’d bring about in the collapse of society.  
  
Green eyes narrowed, face scrunching up as pupils dilated and teeth ground into each other. Maryam hated it when Rashida had a point. And she did. Often. Rashida wasn’t just a blinding light that everyone gravitated to--- Oh no. She was smart too.  
  
(Father called Maryam smart, too. But it was different. Rashida rushed into things. Maryam lingered back, at least.)  
  
“Then he’ll find a way back, eventually. He’ll heal. He’ll escape. He won’t leave us.”  
  
They were family, weren’t they? Born of the same land. Same blood. Same history that was written in their veins. And family--- they always stuck together. No matter how much you hated to. No matter how much you were outshined. No matter how much your blood boiled at times.  
  
“But what if he doesn’t?”  
  
__ What if. What if. What if.  
  
“What if the world caught on fire?! What if we woke up one day and everything we knew was gone?! It happened, Rashida! There’s no use dwelling on what ifs now! Here we are!” Maryam shoved the trap away, rising to their feet in a flurry of anger. Puddles of water, leaked over from the over flooded nile, splashed as they stormed back, arms raised.   
  
“Do you think he’d stay away because of some fires? Because the earth shook and the river flooded like it does every year?! No! He’ll come back. And we’ll wait for him to come back like we always do!”  
  
Behind them Rashida grew quiet. Maryam felt guilt flash in their chest for a moment for raising their voice but, like a breeze in the summer, it was gone in an instant. Rashida knew how to push their buttons. Get them voicing their anger for once in ways no one else could. And Maryam had been the dutiful sibling for the past months. Took care of Rashida. (Rashida could take care of herself but, Maryam saw themself doing everything in their mind. Hunting. Protecting them.)  
  
Maryam didn’t have to turn around to see the flames in the girl’s eyes as she sucked in a breath, though, eyes narrowed and voice tight. “Luxor is  _ gone _ , Maryam.” There was a strained calm to her tone, a pause before it rose in alto. (And she was right. They had been in their home in the city when it hit. They had almost been crushed under the building when the earthquakes came and it toppled under its’ own weight. When they crawled out from the rubble, Maryam’s head bleeding and Rashida’s arm twisted, they found the city as destroyed as the ruins of Thebes.) “The city is crumbling, ash around us and you say it was just a  _ fire _ ? The floods never end! Everyone is  **DYING** !” She threw her arms up, the left barely healed from the break months ago, voice rising higher and higher as she stormed up past her sibling, skidding on the heel of her foot to face her. “Abbi is gone and he hasn’t come back, might not ever come back, and you just want to sit here in denial!”   
  
Rashida threw her finger towards her mirror twin’s face, scarf sliding down from the ferocity of her movements. “Grow up!”  
  
Anger hit the dark haired Egyptian at once, a rush of heat through their blood as their eyes narrowed. Squaring themself up Maryam clenched their jaw down, meeting Rashida’s gaze just as harshly.   
  
“Luxor will rebuild. We’ve done it before---”  
  
“Don’t talk like you were there when Waset collapsed, Maryam! You’re as old as I am! No older! What happened then doesn’t say anything about what’ll happen now!”  
  
“Then what?” They finally snapped, poison in their voice as they whirled themself away from Rashida, shoulders heaving as their anger made them shake. They wrenched their hands into their hair, fingers tangling in the roots of their curls, snagging the tie out accidentally. Their hair sprung all around them, a halo of dark. “ _ What do you want me to do,  _ Rashida? Find Abbi and drag him home?!”  
  
“No. I want  _ us  _ to find him, Maryam. He’s my father too.”  
  
Her voice had changed, a soft, gleeful tone to it. Rage still lingered on the edges, like a watercolor pictured but, Maryam knew Rashida well enough to know they had said what the girl wanted.   
  
“No. No! Luxor is bad enough with the jackals and crocodiles--- the looters--- the starving people who’ll kill you for something to eat--- we’re not traversing across the desert and sea into the heart of the  _ devil  _ itself! We’re not going to Europe!”  
  
“We’ll just follow the Nile to Cairo--- and then we’ll find a boat to Greece. No desert involved.”  
  
She was trying to kill her.   
  
“No. No. Abbi will come home--- our people need us here, not away in foreign lands.”  
  
(Their people were dying around them. Starving in their homes, drowning as the river stretched further into their land, killing each other. Their people needed them. They needed them to be strong. Together. Not away.)  
  
“Maryam, our people need  _ all  _ of us.” They felt a hand on their shoulder, turning them around to face the eyes of their little sister. Rashida’s face was softer now, solemn and grief written across it. “I’m going to find him, no matter what.  _ I’m _ going to bring him home. I’m asking you to come with me. Please.”  
  
I’m. I’m. I’m.   
  
_ I’m  _ going to be the  **hero** , Maryam.  
  
_ I’m  _ going to find him.  
  
_ I’m  _ going to be the light our people need.  __ I’ll bring him home.  
  
Their sister’s grip on their shoulder tightened, just slightly. A silent plead.  
  
“---He told me to take care of you.”  
  
“I can take care of myself---”  
  
“If I let you go alone--- I won’t be doing that.”  
  
**They’d** bring him home.  
  
Maryam didn’t want to forever be Rashida’s shadow.

 

* * *

 

 

From the banks of the Nile to the small neighborhood they use to call home, on the outskirts of Luxor, the two trekked on. The asphalt had cracked from the earthquakes months ago, leaving the earth open wide for travelers to fall into. It made traveling by cars impossible now--- at least on the roads. Not that it matters, anyway, there was no gas left to supply the cars. At least not in the city. The gas had all been looted by refugees heading to Cairo or it had burned up in the canisters it was held in. (Maryam had memories of a gas station in flames for weeks after the initial heat blast. It had only burned out on it own.)  
  
The walk itself had only taken an hour or so, as long as they avoided major roadways and people. Their house loomed on in the distance, a half crumbled piece of construction on the street, surrounded by other destroyed buildings. It was dangerous to even be inside of now, so, Maryam and Rashida had taken to sleeping on bedrolls outside the place in shifts.  
  
( _Abbi won’t know where to find us if we leave, Rashida. We have to stay here._ )

Luckily most of the inhabitants of the neighborhood and city had moved on, heading for Cairo, or stayed away in the more populated parts of the town. Looters weren’t as common as they had once been. Now the two only had to keep travelers from the south, following the Nile up, away. They weren’t rare but--- it wasn’t like it was before.

(Maryam on their hands and knees, a knife brandished in their fist as they kicked two men away in the entryway of their home, Rashida behind them with a gun she had stolen from a dead officer, pistol loaded and trained on the men.  _ Get up or I’ll shoot. Get up or I’ll shoot! _ Maryam stabbed one between the ribs while he was distracted--- and when the other one scrambled to his feet, pulling the wounded up with him, Rashida shot him anyway.)

Dropping to her knees in front of the rubble, Rashida began to dig, moving aside bricks and blocks. Maryam watched her for a moment before pressing on, stepping above the crumbling plaster and entering the dilapidated home. They could hear Rashida pulling their hidden bags from the rubble behind them as they walked on. Hiding their valuables in the rubble had been Maryam’s idea. They’d hear someone digging in their rubble quicker than they would hear someone just grabbing things and running.

“What are you doing?” Rashida’s voice rang out from the doorway and Maryam shrugged in response, eyes rolling. “Getting something.”

Something. Something.

Father’s room was at the far end of the house and Maryam lingered in the leaning doorway before finally entering. Toppled over bookshelves lines the floor, papers soggy and scattered in the dust. Maryam kicked the papers away with the side of their foot, boots crinkling as they stepped further into the room. A broken bed laid in the corner, wooded planks bent in the center. The dark haired Egyptian reached for the mattress and wrenched it up onto it’s side, eyes settling on a small book that had been hidden under it. It was old, cover faded, but the destruction didn’t seem to have reached it.

(They were small, small. Everything was bigger than them and they had crept into Abbi’s room while he was distracted with a tantrum throwing Rashida. They had seen him hide the book away before and they wanted to see it. They almost got crushed by the mattress, pulling it off, but they found it. All that was inside the book were faded pages full of words and sometimes pictures pasted in. Pictures of buildings, of landscapes, and then men they didn’t recognize with Abbi. Words had been scribbled under them.)

Rashida had grabbed the family photo album after the initial quakes ended, it was safely hidden in her bag but, Maryam knew Abbi would want this too. Even if he didn’t know Maryam knew about it.

Slipping the book under their jacket the dark haired heir hurried back to their sister and moved to grab their own backpack from Rashida’s grasp. It was mostly filled with clothes, extra shoes, and sentimental valuables they didn’t want lost. And, of course, the bedroll, tied under it.

“Did you find something?”

Maryam pulled the book out, unzipped their bag, and shoved it in. “Abbi’s journal. He’ll want it.” Rashida made a face beside them, lips pursing together and dark brows stitching together above narrowed golden eyes.

“---And if someone loots the house we don’t want them finding something that says what we are.”

Both motives were why they had grabbed the book. And--- well. Maryam wanted to read it now that they were older and had a better grasp on languages. (It wasn’t written in just Arabic. A little flip through proved that the language it was written in changed over the years.)

“Good point.” Rising to her feet, Rashida stretched a moment before frowning. She scratched at the side of her temple before adjusting her headscarf. “Can you tie some fishing traps to your bag? I can go get the canteens from the kitchen.”

Food. Right. They had exhausted most of their supply of canned food--- fresh food went bad within the first few weeks of everything--- and now were relying on fish and animals they caught. Birds. Lizards. The like. Hunting, of course though, was harder without guns. It meant Maryam had to make traps and kill things with their knife. Maybe they could find some bullets in Cairo--- or somewhere.

Fashioning a bow and arrow couldn’t be too hard, right?

Grunting in acknowledgment to Rashida’s request, Maryam went about on fetching the traps they had left. They dismantled the larger ones, packing them away, and tied the small fish trap to their bedroll. They could see Rashida inside the remnants of their home, poking about as she grabbed canteens, and then lingering for a moment or more in the livingroom. She came out shortly after, face red and hot. “Here,” She shoved a canteen Maryam’s way, along with a large kitchen knife.

Maryam already had a knife, (rusty with blood from the looters they had stabbed), but--- they weren’t going to say no. “What do you have?”

“That pistol, in case we find bullets again--- and a knife. You know that.”

“No,” They emphasized, pointing to the bundle under Rashida’s arm. “What’s  _ that _ ?”

Rashida’s face, already red from what Maryam had assumed was grief, (they were leaving home after all), grew even redder. Maryam couldn’t see her twin’s ears but assumed the tips were bright red. The girl huffed, offended, and stuttered. Then she wrenched two dirty, faded stuffed black toys from under her her dress sleeves. Both were outlined with golden colors--- one a dog and one a cat.

“Bastet and Anubis,” was all Rashida offered in answer before gritting her teeth and moving to shove them into her bag.

“I thought you’d bring Anubis--- he’s  _ yours _ .”

They had been gifts from years ago. Maryam couldn’t even remember from when--- but Anubis had sat dutifully at the head of their bed for as long as they could remember now.

They should say thank you.

They bit their tongue instead, moving back to their own bag.

They could take care of themself. They didn’t need Rashida looking out for their needs.

_ They  _ were the older one. Not her.

 

* * *

They had only been walking an hour, careful to not strain themselves in the heat of the day, when they saw something up the road. At-Tarif loomed in the distance, a village on the outskirts of Luxor, and in the crumbling buildings Maryam could see men moving. Fresh flames licked out the windows of a building, reaching the sky, and dogs on chains barked from the men’s hands as they moved around the roads. Maryam tensed instantly, grabbing at the back of Rashida’s bag as the taller girl tried to press on.

“Stop,” they hissed, pulling their sister back to them. “Are you blind? We’re not going into that.”

Rashida turned their head around to look at their sibling, face tight as her brows furrowed together in anger. “We need to pass by them. Besides--- what if they’re hurting people? We need to help!”

“We do not,” Maryam hissed back, keeping their hold on their sister tight. “There’s probably no one left, anyway. Everything is burnt and jackals always come from this way--- they’re just looting, I bet. But there’s no way we’re walking into that.”

Rashida glared, rolling her eyes in a great dramatic gesture. “Then what? Cross the Nile?”

Maryam faltered for a moment, bit down on their bottom lip, then slipped into an irritated expression. “No. We bypass it. Go through the  _ Valley _ .”

The Valley of the Kings. A popular site for tourists before--- now not so much. There were no more tourists marching through, just looters and jackals that swept through the ruins looking for a bite to eat. Maryam had heard of some refugees attempting to live in the tombs and ruins but, they doubted they lasted long. It was too far from the Nile to find real food to eat--- unless they lived off jackals.

In front of them Rashida made a face for a moment, turning back to look towards the distant village, face scrunching up before she huffed. “Fine. If I hear anyone yelling for help, though--- I’m going.”

Maryam rolled their eyes at their sister before pulling her with them as they turned, heading off the road, (littered with abandoned cars), and deeper into the city. The hospital loomed to their left, mostly still standing, and if Maryam strained to listen they could hear noises from inside the broken down building. Looters or squatters, maybe. ---Or doctors and nurses still tending to patients as best as they could. Maryam liked to think their society hadn’t devolved. They still were helping each other. Thriving.

Either way, though, they were careful to walk on the other side of the road from the hospital, incase it was looters with ill intentions. Better safe than sorry.

Ahead of them, Rashida pressed on, determined now with new found energy. They had wandered the city up and down since November, and, even before then they knew the place like the back of their hands. Maryam knew Rashida felt she didn’t have to look twice at everything. It was all the same.

Maryam felt differently. They kept their eyes on everything, ears straining for even the littlest of noises. They were safe for now, yes but, they wouldn’t take any chances. Not everyone was full of good intentions like Rashida.

Past the hospital the land began to grow less wet, less burnt green, to stone and sand. Dust kicked up with every step they took, mixing with the ash thick in the air. The world grew more and more quiet the further out they went, as well, rubble growing more and more to show signs of a thorough looting. Seti’s temple to their left was hardly standing, even as rubble as it was before, now it was mostly dust and ash.

There was no one out here. Jackals roamed the desert now mostly, anything else was a rare sighting. There were no plants. No life. It was death to live out here. It was why the survivors stayed in the cities, near the flooded Nile, even with the crocodiles.

Deir-el-Bahari, giant cliffs that marked the end of tombs for pharaohs, shone in the distance. Rashida was practically grinning as she pushed forward, faster and faster towards Hatshepsut’s resting tomb. (Father had taken them here before. Rashida and Maryam had marveled at everything. Hatshepsut was Rashida’s favorite pharaoh by far, though.)

Maryam had to press on faster to keep up with their sister, irritation shining through their face and voice. “Slow down, Rashida. You’ll tire out before it’s even dark!” Rashida made a laughing noise ahead of them, skidding to a stop as the two finally reached the cliffs. It was faster to go this way than follow the road for hours, Maryam knew this but---

Climbing the cliffs. That’s right.

“Race you to the top, Maryam!”

Rashida didn’t even hesitate, moving to scramble up the steps of the temple. It was easier to reach the cliffs from the roof of the building--- which was half crumbled but, more standing than anything else in the area.

“I’m not dragging you around if you break your neck!” Maryam spat out towards their sister, carefully climbing up the steps. Fallen pillars blocked some of the stairway, making the dark haired heir have to climb over them. They could see Rashida in the distance already, on top of the temple and making their way to the cliff face. Fear built up inside of Maryam for a moment, anxiety swirling in their stomach at the height of the stone cliffs. Their father told them they healed differently than humans, aged differently, got injured differently sometimes---

But he never said what would happen if they fell and broke their back or neck. Would they die? Would they heal eventually? Would they be paralyzed for the rest of their century long lives? The cliff was sandy, dusty with soft grips that your hands could easily slip out of. One mistake and that was it---

Rashida was already scaling up them, shoes shoved haphazardly in her bag so she’d have a better grip on the slick stone. Maryam sighed in return, bending down to unlace their own boots as they reached the top of the temple, pulling them off along with their socks. They shoved the socks deep into the boots before tying the laces of the boots to the side of their bag, the leather tapping against their side as they pulled the bag back on. A reminder they were still there.

They made sure the boots were tied tight, that everything was secured and tied down, before moving to finally face the cliff side. Dirt and pebbles drifted down from above, where Rashida was struggling to make her way up. Maryam gripped a ledge tightly, stone digging into their palm, before moving to pull themself up.

_Abbi, don’t let me fall._

Scaling the cliff was just as hard as Maryam had expected, in the end. Rashida had made it first, boasting about winning with a gentle smirk, while Maryam had followed up nearly twenty minutes later. Their hands were both bloody and raw by the end of it, as were the soles of their feet. Maryam had bemoaned their own idea about bypassing At-Tarif as they pulled their socks back on, blood seeping through them, and then even more as they put their boots on. At least they were nearly to the Valley, now--- and the sun was rising higher and higher into the sky. It’d be a good idea to stop there until dusk. Traveling in daylight wasn’t the best option when outside of the Nile.

“Do you think Abbi ever did that?” Rashida questioned from Maryam’s side as they began to walk again. Her voice was the only break in the silence that stretched around them. Not even birds chirped in the sky above them. 

“I’m sure he’s climbed his fair share of cliffs.”  


“But that one?”

Maryam shrugged, instead focusing on the stretch of stone and sand hills in front of them. They could see the tops of the cliffs ahead, stretching out to the north. Tombs carved in bedrock were left hidden from site--- but Maryam knew they were there.

( _were you there when they buried the pharaohs, abbi? did you see them?_ __  
only some, maryam. only some.  
who’s tomb did you watch be built?  
_my mother’s._ )

Beside her Rashida grew quiet, eyes glittering as she surveyed the valley ahead of them. The world grew quiet once more, a moment of silence for the fallen that stretched on forever. Only the sound of debri and stone being kicked away as they reached the valley was heard.

At least--- until.

Maryam stopped short in their walk, stopping near a tomb as the sound of running footsteps reached their ears. Rashida followed beside them, eyes widening before her face turned serious. Maryam’s darkened.

“Do you hear that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> introducing the twin heirs to egypt: maryam bint hassan ibn muhammad al-layla and rashida bint hassan ibn muhammad al-manaar.
> 
> rashida is actually a friend's character but, here they are. maryam uses the 'they' pronouns in their own thoughts because they don't really consider themself a girl. they just haven't figured out that there are other gender options than male and female yet, though, so most people refer to them as a girl.
> 
> in the original rp they originated from rashida and maryam were part of quadruplets that turkey and egypt had. here they're just heirs to egypt. their original quad siblings, though, will be showing up later on.


	4. chapter three | cador

Cador awoke before the sun. The night stretched out before him, covering the streets outside in a fine shady mist. Stars shined behind clouds, getting their last moments in before the sun hid them behind its’ rays. The personification had chosen this building for its protection from the cold of the night--- but now as the wind had died and the heat of summer mornings began to filter in, he realized it had been a poor choice. He had woken up because of the uncomfortable humidity that was starting to take way--- or at least that’s why he thought he had woken up.

Outside the broken shop windows noise stirred in the streets. Quiet murmurs from a ways down, glass crunching under feet. The dark haired man strained to listen across the way, hoping the noise was merely refugees trying to find their way to the sea side--- or survivors leaving their homes before the sun rose--- but he knew differently. The only survivors in this town, the ones who had stayed, were an old couple that he was currently housed with. They were waiting for their son to return home they told Cador. He had gone to Paris in the days before the end and they wouldn’t leave until he came home.

It had been six months. Cador was sure he wasn’t going to come home.

As the noise picked up, sharp laughs and clattering noises as doors were broken down, the personification decided these visitors weren’t the friendly kind--- and enough was enough. Time to leave. Carefully rising to his feet the dark haired man began to collect his few belongings--- and then turned to the three sleeping figures on the small mattress behind him. Well, two now. The oldest of the three, a golden brown haired teen girl, stared at the man hard, brown eyes narrowed into a confused look. Looking at her hurt Cador still, years after he had found her. Freckles dotted across her face, her joints, her everything. It was a common trait all four held, actually.

“Elowen,” he kept his voice quiet. “Get the tackers up, ye? We’re leavin’.” 

Elowen. It was a Cornish name, like his. He had named her, after all. Found her. Raised her. When she had initially appeared, back in the 70s, everyone had assumed she was his. The Cornish heir. The sign of Cador’s decline. Arthur, the bastern, had looked positively gleeful to Cador about the whole affair.

But they had been wrong. Elowen proved that. She opened up her mouth and a thick Devon accent flew out. She knew all the names in the county. History she hadn’t been born for. Claimed the people as her own. The Devon cultural revival was in full throttle--- and she was proof of it. Heir to a personification long dead, (Cador knew. He had buried Gawen himself, watched as the breath stilled in his chest and his body began to wilt. It’s why he had named her  _ Elowen---  _ elm tree, like the tree that had bloomed above Gawen’s grave.), the new personification now. She only had memories of the past Devon’s life because of his death.

That’s how it worked. When you died--- the ones who take you over would get your memories sometimes. Little flashes of their lives before.

He hadn’t told her of Gawen. Not yet. Even after all these years. He didn’t think he ever would.

But he knew she had to know about him. She had talked about a boy with hair lighter than her’s before, eyes as gray as storms, who had held hands with Cador when he was small. A boy who had held Maela when they sent her across the channel, off to where she could be safe from the Saxons.

Maela. Maela. Brittany. Breten Vian.  _ Breizh _ .

The reason why Cador was even here, now, in a little shop on the road between Rennes and Le Man, heading towards God forsaken fucking France of all places. The reason why he had taken Elowen away from their half standing home, away from the sea where they would be safe, even after everything, after the end. His sister. His other half. 

The end came and he had felt a great pain across his chest, a pain that blossomed everywhere. He had thrown himself overtop Elowen while the world shook, felt the pain, and when it calmed down--- they had left. He had to know Maela was okay. That the pain he had felt hadn’t been her. Let someone else have been claimed. Ireland. Mann. Scotland. England. God, even Wales--- but not her. Not his Maela.

It had been six months. He had searched all across her lands. He still hadn’t found her.

“Eontr?” 

He had found something else, instead. 

A head full of tussled honey-blonde hair sat up, blankets falling around her frame as beside the child Elowen worked on waking the child’s perfect mirror up. Two months after the end, while searching the islands still standing around Brittany’s coasts, Cador and Elowen had discovered two twin toddlers. The older personification knew what they were the moment he had laid eyes on them. He had felt an instant connection with them, a calling in his blood. ( _ FAMILY _ .) They were Celts, Britons--- and with freckled complexion, buttoned noses, and honey blonde hair only shades darker than Maela’s---

Cador knew they were her’s. They looked too much like her to not be. He could get lost looking at the two, sometimes. The shape of their eyes, their chins. It was like Maela made all over again--- with hints of someone--- something else.

(In the dark of the night, alone and watching his wards, Cador pretended their honey brown eyes, shades lighter than Elowen’s and his, meant they had hints of him. He pretended what it would be like to have been born human--- to have a family with the only person who meant everything to him.)

He couldn’t leave them behind. Maela’s heirs. Her flesh and blood in a way. He would have never done it. So, he had taken them in, the little twin heirs born after the end, a potential sign of his other half’s destruction. He had ignored those signs, denial thick in his blood, and hung onto the fact that neither one of them had any memory of Maela’s. No memory of Cador. 

(Call him conceited, perhaps but, Cador knew if Maela was--- was dead--- the first memory any heir of hers would get would be of him and Gawen as children. Dirty and smiling as they carried her across the forest, singing old songs to entertain her while she laughed.)

So. Maela still lived because of this. He knew it, and, he’d search all of the damn world until he found her. Fight anyone he had to until she was safe with him again.

“‘Ey, Delly-bird. Yeh’ gotta get up, alrigh’?” The freckled face man bent down to pick up the little girl’s blanket, rolling it up to put in his bag.  _ Deniela _ . She had been smaller than she was now when he found her and her twin, barely able to talk but, had already named herself. “We’re leavin’. Bad people are a’comin’.”

The long haired child tilted her head in confusion, brows sweeping together as she looked over the room, eying Elowen and her twin brother, before settling back on Cador. 

“What about the old lady?” 

The brown eyed man tensed, then pursed his lips together and shrugged it off. “Get yer stuff. We’re leavin’.”

Elowen had already left the boy twin’s side by now, moving to grab her own things as he crawled off the mattress and rose to his feet. He held his hand out expectantly to his sister, mirror eyes watching her as she frowned at her ‘uncle’s’ response.

Cador watched closely from the side as Deniela took the boy’s hand and pulled herself up, muttering to him quietly. 

Cador didn’t know what to feel about the boy. Sometimes he was Maela, sometimes he was a mix of Maela and Cador--- and sometimes Cador felt there was too much hints of French or English in him. The dark look in his eyes, the grump that followed him, the chin length locks---  _ Donan _ . At least his name was properly Breton.

(The truth was Donan was too much like Cador--- and there was no one Cador hated more than himself.)

* * *

 

It had only taken a few minutes to get the kids up and on their feet, things packed away in bags Elowen and Cador both wore. The twins were too young to be of any help carrying supplies--- If Cador had to guess, honestly, they were probably about the age of an eight or nine year old human. About eight or so years younger than Elowen looked. The twins had grown fast in their time with Cador, far faster than Elowen had ever grown. It was a little alarming--- but he knew it merely meant that society was rebuilding as quickly as they could. Cultures shaping and changing in the wake of the end of everything they knew.

But, again, the twins were too small to carry much of anything, so, they had hung back behind Cador and Elowen as they quietly left the old building, hands entwined together as twin children often did. 

In the distance, only a house or two away, Cador could hear laughter and the sound of glass breaking. Looters, maybe--- or something worse. He didn’t trust any human not from his siblings’ land after the calamity--- and the thick Parisian accents told Cador the voices he was hearing clearly weren’t Breton. 

“Stay quiet, alrigh’?” He glanced back towards the two as he spoke, moving to usher them between Elowen and his body as they quietly pressed forward. Deniela’s eyes were as wide as saucers, a tremble in them as she listened to the voices growing angry from inside the house. Cador put his hand against her back, pushing her forward just slightly. They had to get out of town as quick as possible. Paris was their main destination but, Le Man was the next big town on the route, (he knew this land almost as well as Maela did), and he wanted to stop there for supplies first.

But that meant getting out of here without issue. 

“ _ Hey! _ ”

His luck.

“Feckin’---” Cador swept down, grabbing Deniela up by her arms and holding her tight to his chest as a man stepped out from a building, machete in his hand. “El’, feckin’ grab Donan an’ run!” 

“ _ Holy--- there’s people! _ ”

More men, about four in total, poured out from the house behind the other man. Broken table legs and other fashioned weapons glinted in their hands. They looked confused for a moment before laughing, moving to take off after the scattering personifications. “ _ Told you this was a good place to look, Henri! _ ”

Deniela whimpered in Cador’s arms as she was torn from her brother, hands wrapping around her uncle’s neck tightly. “Donny---” Cador shushed her, picking up his pace as he moved to dash off between two buildings, Elowen ahead of him with Donan scrambling to hold onto her. 

“Just hold on, alrigh’? Stay quiet, tacker.” 

The little child only mutely nodded, eyes wide as she stared out behind them. Cador could hear the sound of feet behind him, thudding of shoes on pavement and broken glass, and it only spurned him on further. A bottle whizzed by his head, crashing against a building and breaking open, little bits of glass flying across his and Deniela’s side. “Jesus---” Biting his tongue, the Cornish man broke out into the empty road on the other side of the alleyway. Elowen stopped ahead of him, brown eyes surveying the road before landing on something on the distance. Trees in the distance, down the way. 

“Ewnter!” She hissed, voice quiet, motioning with her shoulder before she tore off down the road. Cador followed without hesitation, feet pounding against the asphalt. They only had a short moment to get away and throw the men off their trail. They had to make it count.

Pressed against his shoulder, Deniela quieted a moment before stirring, pulling at his shirt as they crossed over a bridge. Dirty water, swelling to heights it had never been at before, surrounded them.

“No, no. Eontr---  **there** .” She made a point of pulling his hair by the raggedy locks so he turned his head to look at the water. A little ways down--- forest and trees that grew up from the water, shielding it from sight.

She was a genius. His little genius.

“Elowen!” Moving to put Deniela down on the bridge, Cador scrambled over the edge of the bridge, jumping down into the water below. It sloshed up to his waist, barely missing the bag on his back. It’d be up to the twin’s shoulders--- but at least it wouldn’t be over their heads. He held his arms out for Deniela, catching her as she jumped off the edge of the bridge. Elowen had turned around by now, catching onto the plan, and had already placed Donan down. She was in the water by a moment. 

“I always liked muddin’,” She commented slyly, face nonchalant in the danger--- though her eyes gave away the fear she was feeling. Cador handed her Deniela with a sharp, bitter laugh as he moved to take Donan from the edge.

“Just like when the tide leaves, righ’?”

Donan closed his eyes as Cador held him, eyes flashing open after a moment as he turned to look towards Deniela. He tilted his head, a silent conversation going on between the twins. Cador shuddered and motioned for Elowen to follow him, quickly heading back into the overgrowth of the creek turned river. The water sloshed up higher around him and Elowen found herself quickly covered up to her chest in water. She had slid her bag off by now, holding it up with one arm above her head while keeping Deniela on her hip with the other. Finding a dark, shady spot, the group of four hunkered down, quieting as the sound of footsteps on the bridge filled their ears.

Deniela reached out, grabbing Donan’s hand in the quiet, and around them, the water stilled. The wind made no noise. The world seemed to go silent around them, save for the footsteps on the bridge. They stilled a moment, men biting out orders in French, before suddenly they picked up again as trees down the road, near a house, rustled. The men took off. 

Deniela let go of Donan’s hand and Cador let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“I hate people,” Elowen growled, hoisting Deniela a little higher.

Cador smirked, despite himself, and laughed.

“Me too.”

* * *

 

They had waded through the creek for a good hour or two afterwards, keeping away from roads in case the men from earlier were still lurking around somewhere. It had grown shallower further on, enough that Deniela and Donan could be let down to splash around in the muddy water. It was only up to the middle of their torsos by then, high enough that they had to wade but, low enough Cador didn’t have to worry about them falling under the water. The two had occupied themselves by splashing each other, laughing and playing as the day went on. Eventually they reached a pasture that the creek cut through. It was burnt and dying, flowers and grass withering around them, and Cador had to wonder where the cows and sheep that had once lived in it now were. 

Deniela made a pained noise in her throat as they climbed out of the creek into the dead field, eyes glimmering. “The plants are hurting,” she said plainly, looking out across the area, and Donan grabbed her hand, humming in agreement. 

Elowen looked towards her uncle, shrugging lightly, and climbed out behind the the group. Cador didn’t understand how a burnt field could cause the two pain when they had passed through so many destroyed towns already. It was all they knew, after all. Destruction. He would have thought they would have been used to it by now. 

“I want to make them better,” The morose tone to Deniela’s voice was heartbreaking to Cador, so much like Maela’s when she was young. The little child dropped to her knees, wet oversized t-shirt sloshing on the ground as she pressed her face to the dead grass. “Donny,” She urged, the quiet boy squeezing her hand back.

“---Delly, get up. We gotta keep on.”

“No! Eontr please--- we gotta help!”

Cador exchanged a hopeless glance towards Elowen, who shrugged before dropping her bag to the ground. “The earth’ll heal ‘em. Give her time.” The golden haired brunette said after a moment, unzipping her bag to pull out two old shirts. “Now, get over here. You’ll freeze in those wet things.” 

That’s right. The twin’s shirts, (two large men shirts they had rummaged from an old shop when they first found them. they’d need better clothes now that they had stopped growing some--- but Cador hadn’t found any place yet), were both soaked through. The white had long turned grey from the dirt--- but now they were wet and sagging. Elowen had at least thought ahead and grabbed some shirts from the last home they stopped at. Men’s shirts, again but, it’d work as a dress and tunic for now.

Deniela made a protesting noise, only relenting to get up as Donan moved to let go of her hand and put his own on the wilted grass, little fingers digging into the dirt. He stayed that way a moment as Deniela went over to Elowen, allowing her to pull the old wet shirt off. 

“Donan, you too,” Cador called, moving to head over to the boy and pull him to his feet. He hadn't even noticed the little buds of flowers where the two had put their heads. He could have sworn they weren't there before. The honey blond scrambled up before he could, rushing over to Elowen, pulling his shirt off as he went. The twins weren’t just identical in facial appearance--- they were identical everywhere, both naked as birds underneath their shirt tunics. (Underwear was a luxury Cador couldn’t find yet. They were lucky he managed to find shoes--- even if they were too big.) 

Elowen tsked, ringing the shirts off, before handing the two new shirts to the children. They pulled them on obediently, though both seemed alright staying nude, too. 

“What about you an’ Eontr?” Donan asked after a moment, staring at Elowen’s soaked shirt and shorts hard. She cleared her throat, shrugging. “Later.” 

“You should change too, Elowen! Eontr--- tell her to change!” 

Cador snorted towards Deniela as Elowen zipped her bag back up, wet shirts tied to the bottom.

“Ain’t the same. Yer little, you can change ‘round anyone. Don’t matter. El and I’--- we’re too big. We’re not tackers like you are.”

“What’s the difference?” Deniela asked after a moment, round eyes looking up towards her uncle and guardian. Donan made a scoffing noise beside her, crossing his arms. “El’ has tits an’ Eontr don’t.”

“---What are tits?!”  
  
Lord fucking help him. He wasn’t made for raising kids without Maela or Wales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any dialogue written in italics is said in another language that our main pov can understand: in this case french. i'm going by a headcanon that personifications, when talking to another personification, will hear what they're saying in their native language. they can make sure that the other personification will only hear a certain language by deliberately talking in that language, though. (example: america and russia are talking. america hears russia speaking english. russia hears america speaking russian. america can deliberately make sure he's speaking english, though, and all russia will hear is english. it's a switch the personifications have.)
> 
> eontr means uncle. ewnter means uncle.
> 
> that out of the way!
> 
> introducing our third pov: the personification of the celtic country cornwall aka cador trewin. now, cador is my most beloved oc. i fucking love him. also introduced is elowen trewin, the personification of devon county/culture, and deniela "delen/delly" and donan. in the original rp these twins were children of cornwall and brittany but here they're just heirs of brittany.
> 
> brittany is also mentioned, maela morvan, and my friend izzie owns her, deniela, and elowen. maela and cador are a perfect pair i love them so much. more on maela later.


	5. chapter four | gabriele

It’s been a week since they left the refugee center. Gabby knows this because Lotte, smart girl she is, has kept a notebook on her since the end of it all and has marked every day down. Six months since November. Six months since they’ve seen their brothers and their sister. Four months since a group of people found them trying to traverse the scorched land, Gabby’s leg twisted backwards and burnt, Lotte’s head burst open from where their house collapsed on top of them. Four months since they were taken away by the people to a base in the mountains, (not their home, not Germany), where the little doctors that had survived stitched people together. They were two in a group of twenty plus orphans, little children with no families to come forward to claim them.

But they weren’t human. Not like them. The doctors were astounded they had even survived two months on their own with injuries like this. Their amazement grew when after three months they were healed entirely with only a limp on Gabby’s part to show for it. Miracle children, they called them. A sign the world could heal, they’d live on, others said.

The blonde orphan boy who had been there since the start, freckled face and blue eyed, the only orphan who hadn’t befriended them, stayed away, knew differently. The month before they were to leave, (back when it was only a plan, an idea to leave. they had yet to figure out how to sneak away), he confronted them about it.  _ Heirs _ , he called them.  _ Like me. _

The friendship this confrontation started was strained but, not non existent. Lotte enjoyed his company more than Gabby did. He was too quiet for her liking. Too involved in history and books. She wanted to live. She couldn’t do that here in the center or in books. Away from her people. Niklaus, he called himself, he understood it seemed.  _ These are my people. You need to find yours. _

So one day he showed them how to sneak out, slip out undetected by the few military that guarded the place. How to escape and not be noticed. It’s what he did to check on the rest of his people.

The night they left Lotte had begged him to come with, having never had friends besides her siblings before. “We’re the same! We need to stick together! Find our brothers and sisters!”

“They’re all dead,” He seemed so sure about that. “I’m the only one Switzerland has now. Find your people--- and if you ever need help I’ll be here. But I won’t go.”

One week ago they had left him, bag full of supplies, a map and notebook in hand. Set off alongside the flooded Rhine--- heading back towards the Black Forest--- the place where they had been raised. Where their childhood had been spent.

(Abby, Lotte, and her. Playing in the forest. Days spent in towns with their brothers, Gilbert and Ludwig. Ludwig was her favorite. She knew she was connected to him in a way Abby and Lotte weren’t. “You’re mine,” She had told him once, laughing as he held her on his shoulders. He was her’s and Gilbert was Lotte and Abby’s. She was heir to West Germany. She knew this in her very being.)

Leaving the center they found themselves in a high mountain, Rigi, with Lake Zug nearby. The center had turned out to be a hidden military bunker--- turned into a refugee center as soon as the end came. Niklaus had told them centers were appearing scattered across Europe.

“A good thing! We’re coming together! Helping each other! It’ll make finding our siblings so much easier!” Gabby had said, delighted with the idea.

“Just be careful,” He had said, and, if Gabby had been smarter she might have picked up on something hidden in his voice.

Their trek from Rigi into Germany involved long mountain passes, three days spent under the stars and hidden in trees and abandoned houses. They’d hear starving dogs howl outside their makeshift shelters and would huddled together tighter, shared blanket pulled around each other. Ludwig had taken her to a wolf park in the Black Forest, once, a sanctuary for bears and wolves. She had to wonder now if they had escaped when the end came--- if they roamed the forest that had once been their home, starving. In search for food.

The fourth day they found themselves staring at the yard to their childhood home. The grass was scorched and the house still hung in shambles, collapsed in on itself. There was no sign anyone had been here, it well off the beaten path and hidden away. Lotte and Gabby had searched anyway, looking for signs of their family.

Nothing. Only the bodies of their dogs, crushed and burned by their house, that they hadn’t been able to find in the days after the end of everything. Hours and hours they spent in the rubble of their former lives before Gabby gave up, curling up alongside the body of her beloved pet, picked almost clean by predators and rotting, and wept. Thick, fat tears rolled from her brown eyes and down her cheeks, blonde locks curling around her bent frame. She only moved when Lotte pulled her away, her own pale cheeks dusted with ash and tears, and moved to shuffle the dog’s body towards a hole she had dug near the doorway of their home.

Gabby helped her bury their three dogs, fourth one missing, (she had hope he was out there somewhere--- not eaten clean by predators), and that night they slept atop the grave, curled together, leaning against the makeshift cross Gabby had constructed. Lotte had carved into it crudely.

“MINZE. SCHWARZ. WAGNER.   
WELL DONE OUTLIVES DEATH.”

They spent that night in the old treehouse in their backyard, a better source of protection than actually going inside their old home. Lotte had dug up old things from the little cubbies up there, drawings and pictures. She spent an hour carefully pulling pictures from their frames and putting them inside their shared bag. Gabby had found her stuffed teddy bear, not her favorite one but, an older one, and had curled around it tightly as they settled down for the night on the old pallet Abby had made in the treehouse two years ago. It was dirty, bugs crawled across the floor with them but, they slept more comfortably than they had in months.

Day five they rummaged supplies from the rubble of their home for a little while. Canned food, water bottles, a thermos. Gabby found an extra bag, to both of their delight, and while it was a duffel bag and therefor going to be hard to carry compared to Lotte’s backpack--- it was better than nothing. She had shoved her teddy bear in there and some extra blankets. She had, naively, shoved a leash and collar she had found in the bag as well. Just in case Bruno showed back up someday. They had to be prepared.

Gabby felt like they were relatively well supplied and, had wanted to leave already--- but Lotte made them stay an extra few hours as she found a few more things.

The sun was high in the sky as they finally left, making their way towards the highway. Finding Abby came first. They knew this. Then they’d find their brothers. The last they heard she was in Cologne, finally on a trip by herself. They had no idea if she was still there but--- that’s where they’d check first.

The roadways were mostly abandoned, cracks across them making them too hard to drive across now. There were cars left stuck in the cracks, some crashed and burnt on the side of the road, and some just plain empty. Occasionally you’d see one that had been on the road when the end happened--- disfigured bodies still inside, hands melted to the steering wheel and sockets empty, eyes evaporated from the heat.

Ash still fell from the sky, thick dusting pieces that hurt if you breathed it in. People at the refugee center said calderas and volcanoes had erupted across the world when the end happened--- but Gabby hadn’t realized how bad it was until she and Lotte had started their trek out.

Half way through the night on day five, (night six), Lotte had bent over as the wind picked up, breathing laboured, and had coughed and coughed until blood speckled the ground. “I’m fine,” she said, and had tried to wave it off--- but Gabby picked the lock on an old abandoned car anyway and dragged her in there, where they spent the night.

Day six they tore strips of fabric off their blankets and tied them around their faces, protection from the volcanic ash that still sifted across the land.

They kept walking.

Night seven they walked through the night, feet stumbling until their socks filled with blood.

Day seven they arrived in Stuttgart.

Today was day seven.

 

* * *

  
Stuttgart was in pieces. Gabby had seen pictures of the city after World War II--- and it felt eerily familiar to her eyes. (She might have dozed off during their daily tutoring, slacked sometimes--- but history she felt a deep connection to and could remember every piece she learned.) Rubble and bodies littered the streets, buildings collapsed on themselves. The outskirts of the city were empty, trash everywhere. The blonde could hear sounds of life further on, though, scratches and voices across the way.

“Survivors,” Lotte said, and, Gabby beamed, face lifting.

“Germany is made up of survivors. We’re survivors!” She had replied, laughing with joy. They hadn’t seen another living figure since they left Switzerland so, the two had looked at each other before rushing forward, Gabby grabbing Lotte’s hand to pull her forward.

“Come on!” The two blonde girls ran ahead, bags hitting against them as they went, stumbling over trash and debri as they navigated the city. Across the empty streets they could hear voices growing louder, angry German with a thick accent (American?) and--- “Abby?”

Lotte stopped suddenly, almost making Gabby trip over her as they turned a corner. “Is that Abby?”

The taller, darker blonde blinked a moment, straining her ears to hear the voices again. There were two accented ones, yes but--- A sudden rush of euphoria hit the girl’s chest, threatening to swallow her up. The third voice, the angry female one--- it was Abby. It was. It was.

It was their sister.

“Abby!” The squeal that left her was unbecoming, yes but, the girl couldn’t help it. She dropped her hand from Lotte’s grasp and took off in an unbridled run, hair slipping from the tie that held it back as she went. She could hear Lotte gasp behind her before taking off too, feet thundering as she ran to catch up. Raided shops began to appear more and more the further she pressed on, windows broken and inventory successfully looted. The area was changing, slowly, from roads to a square and---

Trash was spread across a burnt, green field in front of a torn up cobbled square. A destroyed fountain laid in the center of the cobblestone ground, a pipe pulled up next to it.

The New Palace.

And directly in front of the palace stood five men with guns pointed at a redheaded girl and some boy with half dyed hair.

Gabby felt the air leave her like a punch to the gut. She stopped her run, eyes watering as she tried to make sure she was really seeing this. That was Abby. Abby--- and if Abby was here--- Gilbert and Ludwig had to be here somewhere. They had to be. They would have gotten Abby on their way home. They would have.

“Abby! ABBY!”

Lotte’s voice cut her out of her stupor, the pale blonde speeding past with a hiccup. Ahead the attention of the entire group turned towards the two blondes, the redhead’s blue eyes widening as she dropped the bag she had been holding. Gabby could see the tears welling up in her eyes from here.

“Lotte? Lotte? Gabby? Oh my god---”

Gabby took off running the moment Abby did, colliding with her sister as the same time Lotte did. Fat tears cascaded down her cheeks, the blonde nuzzling her face into her older sister’s shoulder. (Older in appearance and true age. Their brothers said she and Lotte came around the same time--- but Abby had been there before.)

The three girls choked back happy tears, hugging each other tightly. It was only when Abby pulled away that Gabby finally noticed the angry men behind them had advanced towards them again, guns pointed at Abby and the boy from before. (He was holding Abby’s bag now and she could get a clear look of him, this close. His hair was dark, maybe brown or black? But he had bleached it and only the roots looked that color now. His skin was tanned, eyes the shade of amber. He looked happy for them but was glaring at the five men.)

“Back up from the kids,” The leader of the men said, shoving his gun towards Abby. Gabby felt her cheeks heat up with indignation. She was--- Really old! Older than him, probably! Maybe. And she looked like a fifteen year old, too! Everyone said so!

“She’s our sister,” Gabby spat, wrapping her arm protectively around Abby’s own. Lotte squared up on the other side of the redhead, leaning onto her, glaring out at the men. “We’re not going anywhere,” Gabby continued, snorting.

“Gabriele,” The redhead warned, pulling herself from her sister’s grip. “It’s alright.” She tensed, staring the men down. Gabby only now noticed they seemed to be wearing old military like vests and uniforms. Dirty and torn but--- still recognizable.

“Look, we were just here to find my family---” Gabby smiled at that, “we’re not looters. Since I found what we came here for--- we’ll leave.”

The men looked among each other, then back towards the group and glared. “No. You can go---,” He mostly emphasized this at the bleached hair kid, “but it’s not safe for kids to be wandering around anywhere now. They’ll come back with us.”

“No! I’m not going anywhere!” Gabby practically yowled, now latching back onto her older sister’s arm. “You can’t make us do anything,” Lotte added cautiously from behind Abby.

The men snorted, the leader stepping forward, gun still poised. “Yes we can. You’ll die out there. It’s our job to protect survivors who can’t take care of themselves.”

“What makes you in charge of anything?” The mysterious boy finally spoke up and Gabby realized that he was the heavily accented voice she had heard initially. (Besides the American sounding leader with the gun.) She couldn’t place it exactly but--- it definitely wasn’t German.

“We’re military,” This time the man looked towards the boy and glared, eyes narrowing. Behind her Lotte made a tiny noise, like she realized something, and Abby did the same. Gabby didn’t know what they realized but--- she wished she did. “Probably the last real military out there. It means we’re in charge of  _ everything _ .”

With this said the man stepped forward, wrenching Gabby away from her sister. The other men moved in suddenly, keeping their guns on the two older teens while the leader made a grab for Lotte, who had bolted as Gabby was grabbed.

Gabby let out a loud yelp--- before turning it into a scream as she flailed to try and get loose from the soldier’s grip. She kicked her legs out, hitting nothing for a moment as Abby started yelling for them to let her go. Her world was going white around the edges, panic enveloping her before her foot finally made connection with something. The soldier gasped out and loosened his grip as he doubled over, just enough for Gabby to get loose and move to kick him again.

Suddenly something grabbed her by her arm, pulling her away with a shout. The brown eyed girl moved to kick and shove at whoever grabbed her but, the grip didn’t let up.

“Gabriele---- MOVE!”

Abby. Abby. Oh.

She stopped the attack, world clearing up as she realized who had grabbed her was Abby. The soldiers were rushing after them just a few steps behind them, guns raised. A bullet grazed by her head as she turned around to look, barely missing her. Her heart dropped.

She turned her head back around, squeezing her eyes shut as she forced her body to run harder and faster. She could feel blisters forming already, her socks filling up with more blood as she pushed on. Ahead Lotte dodged bits and pieces of rubble and debri, turning corners quickly and ducking under cars. Abby seemed to be following her for now, eyes set dead ahead as they ran.

Suddenly Lotte turned left, ducking down into a road that led into a tunnel underground. Gabby’s chest heaved together as light left and darkness flooded around them. She had to strain to see and was grateful for Abby’s hand still on her arm, pulling her forward.

“Over here!” That was Lotte’s voice, directing them towards a van and the group slowed down, ducking down to hide behind the van.

“Lotte?” Gabby’s voice hitched in a whisper as she looked around, trying to find her sister in the darkness. “In here,” The van door creaked open as the boy from before slid up next to Abby, panting and eyes wide. Gabby hadn’t even realized he had been running with them this entire time.

“Yeah, Germany’s great,” He spat out towards Abby, who rolled her eyes in return as she pushed Gabby forward into the van. The teenager crawled forward, hidden out of sight under a seat beside Lotte. She hunkered down, grabbing her sister’s hand, and waited as the door closed behind her, Abby and the boy now both safely inside.

Now they waited.  
  


* * *

It was late at the night when Abby decided it was finally safe enough to venture out of the van again. Gabby had fallen asleep for a short while, curled against Lotte, and, as she was coming to--- so was the pale blonde. They had stayed up all night the night before, after all.

Crawling out of the abandoned van the group stretched to their legs, eyes adjusting to the pure darkness outside. Gabby held onto Lotte’s bag to steady herself, the other girl holding onto Abby’s shirt sleeve herself.

“Who were they?” She finally asked, other arm moving up to cover her mouth as she yawned.

“Americans.” Lotte and Abby answered both at the same time. Gabby blinked slowly.

“Some Germans, too--- but they’re probably from the military base. Maybe” Gabby’s mouth opened into a small ‘o’ as Abby explained, her brows furrowing together. That’s right. They had passed a fenced off base on their way in. She hadn’t realized they had set up a shelter there---

“Of course Americans try and take control even in a different country,” The boy spoke up, rolling his eyes as they group navigated their way out of the tunnel into the city once more.

Gabby laughed at this before pausing. “---Who are you, anyway?”

“Esdra Vargas, at your service, little lady. And I’m betting you two are Gabriele and Liselotte that Abs’ told me so much about.” She could hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke. Gabby scrunched her face up. “Gabby and Lotte. Only Luddy calls us Gabriele and Liselotte.”

She squinted as they broke out into the city, stars shining down on the destroyed town. Abby groaned from ahead of them. “Esdra’s a heir--- like us.” Lotte’s eyes widened beside Gabby, her green and red eyes swiveling towards the boy. “Italy? That’s why you have an accent, right? We found another heir too, back in Switzerland! Niklaus. He’s at a refugee center.”

“You all have accents too,” He countered, snorting. “I sound normal.” He made a face. “You’re the first heirs I’ve met--- besides my sister.” His voice drifted a moment, like he was regretting something.

“I have a feeling there’s a lot more heirs than we all knew about--- or that this thing brought a whole bunch more to life.”

That was Abby.

And yeah, okay. That made sense. Esdra was a heir, no wonder why he sounded foreign but felt--- not safe but--- the same. He was like them. But--- something was still bothering Gabby.

“Abby, where’s Gilbert and Luddy? They’re with you, right?”

The night suddenly got quiet, a tension falling over the group.

“No. I haven’t--- I still haven’t found them. Or heard from them--- I was going to find you first.”

Niklaus’s voice rang in Gabby’s ears, a haunting memory from before.

_ They’re all dead. _

Gabby’s eyes swelled with tears but she blinked them back. Beside her Lotte moved her hand to grab Gabby’s, pulling it from the strap of her bag, and squeezing it comfortingly.

“So Denmark’s our next stop, then.” She said and Gabby could only mutely nod in agreement.

“Denmark.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> introducing pov number four: gabriele 'gabby' beilschmidt. aka heir to west germany. also introducing liselotte 'lotte' beilschmidt, heir to east germany, and abigail 'abby' beilschmidt who's heir to germany overall--- or central germany. they're not sure yet. she feels a connection to the entire country so.
> 
> there's also esdra vargas, heir to north italy, and niklaus zwingli--- heir to switzerland.
> 
> lotte, abby, esdra, and niklaus belong to friends. gabby technically, too. in the original rp gabby was a gerita child, lotte was a pruspa kid, and niklaus was a wales/switzerland child. here they're just heirs.
> 
> up next is our last pov for now before we circle back to sofija.


	6. chapter five | georgina

The sound of laughter woke her up. Rays of sunlight shone in through cracks in the open windows as the wind blew outside, the light breeze rattling the curtains. Footsteps pounded across the dirt outside before the door flew open, the steps echoing across the wooden floor. 

“Georgina! Georgina!”

The girl on a cloth pallet on the floor stirred, eyes finally opening to the morning sunlight as three little faces, four to eight in age, crowded around her. Big eyes stared down at her, mouths moving into smiles and laughter. “Georgina, c’mon! Get up! Miss Ellen had her baby!”

The girl, no older than twelve, blinked a moment before what the children said seemed to finally hit her. A smile spread across her face, excitement covering her as she scrambled up out of bed. “What? When?!” She asked as she made a grab for her pants besides the pallet, pulling them up so she was wearing more than just her night shirt.

“A while ago! It’s why no one woke us up for chores--- they were too busy!”

The girl, Georgina, practically burst out from the one roomed building, bare feet scrambling against the rocky ground outside. The sun shone brightly, shading the mountain she and the children called home. Excitement and joy were swirling up inside her. Everyone had been waiting for months now for Miss Ellen to give birth. It was the first baby to be born after The End--- that’s what Georgina’s parents said. It was a very big deal. Everyone had been worried the baby wouldn’t even make it--- wouldn’t survive the pregnancy. She hadn’t even been showing when the end happened.

This proved wrong. Her little siblings were happy and squealing--- the baby had to make it. 

“Papa!” Bare feet thundered across the ground, kicking up rocks and dirts as the child ran towards the large house a few feet away. Figures were crowded around outside, adults whispering alike. One man, stepping outside from the house, looked up at the noise and smiled, walking forward to sweep the child up in his arms.

“Georgie! Hello, little lamb. Did your siblings wake you up?” 

The smaller children behind her scampered up to the tall man, clammering around his legs to pull on his pants and ramble. “Sorry, Papa! We were too excited!”

He shook his head, shifting Georgina so he could look at her better. “I wanted you to sleep since you worked so hard yesterday.

Georgina smiled, ducking her head bashfully under her father’s chin. She was the oldest child here--- so she helped with the adults and watched the littler kids as much as she could. Her Papa always told her how proud he was of her for it--- it made her feel good. 

“It’s okay, Papa. How’s Miss Ellen? She had her baby? Is it a girl or a boy? Can I see it?” 

Her papa laughed, moving to set her down on the ground again, ruffling her hair as he pulled his arms aways. “She did. It’s a little girl,” From around his legs the only boy child groaned, pulling his hair in exasperation. “Sorry, Elvis. Maybe next time someone’ll have a boy.” The man chuckled again, stepping back. 

“As for seeing her--- Ellen needs to rest now, lamb. Tonight, after chores, we’ll go see her, alright?” 

Georgina frowned but nodded anyway. Having a baby had to be tiring--- so alright. “Okay. You promise?”

Papa grinned, eyes twinkling. “Promise. Now--- someone needs to get dressed, doesn’t she?”

The brunette grinned sheepishly, glancing down at her pants and night shirt--- hair down in waves around her face. “Oops.” 

Her two little sisters looked at each other before grinning, moving to let go of their Papa’s legs to crowd around Georgina instead. “We’ll do your hair! Let us do your hair, Georgina!"

She beamed, moving to step back towards the one roomed house where she slept with the other kids, laughing. “Okay, okay. But let’s hurry--- I wanna finish all my chores soon!”

Everyone had chores here. They had to help with their part. Even before the end they had chores--- that’s what her family said. Georgina wouldn’t know. She didn’t remember anything before the end.  _ You came to us after everything, little lamb. _ Her Papa said.  _ A gift.  _

She didn’t remember. Didn’t even know her own name when she walked up to the little society one day, feet blistered and bloody, naked as anything. She remembered her Mama finding her first, out in the garden, and screaming. Papa and everyone else came running. 

They had asked her for her name, her family, what had happened--- but it was only three months after the end, her Papa said. When she couldn’t remember anything--- they all assumed she had hit her head in the chaos. Lost her memories. Lost her family.

(She hadn’t told Papa this--- not yet--- but she did remember some things. She remembered being little, as small as Margie who was only four, and everything being on fire. The earth shaking. Crawling out from dirt. And then she remembered walking for days and days. Knowing every turn and twist. Growing as she walked--- but--- she never remembered anything from before the world was on fire. It was all she knew.)

They were her family now. They took her in, named her. Papa and Mama even adopted her. Said she was their own now. And all the other adults--- Miss Ellen who lost her husband in the end, Remus and his brother Saul, Miss Cara and Mister Thomas, Lily Anne--- they said she was their own now too. 

_We’re all a family._ Papa said. Preached to them at night.  _ We knew the end was coming and we prepared for it in advanced. It paid off. We might have lost some people---  _ He’d always look at Miss Ellen here, or Miss Cara and Mister Thomas who lost a son--- _ but we’ve gained more. _

Mama said Lily Anne was a girl they found when going out of the mountains for supplies. She was family now, too. They all were.

And family took care of each other. And that meant doing chores! Doing your part!

Georgina’s part was watching the little kids and taking care of the chickens. But she couldn’t do that barefoot and in her night shirt! 

Her little sisters cackled and nodded, moving to follow Georgina as she headed back to their room. They crowded around her as she pulled her night shirt off and put on a new, green shirt and slipped some socks on. Mama and Miss Cara made all the clothes here. They couldn’t go to town to buy new ones--- so they had to make their own. Mama chided Georgina for growing too fast sometimes--- she constantly had to make new clothes.

(“You were Christina’s size when you got here! A child of eight! Now look how big you are!”)

She sat down to pull on her boots and nodded to Christina and Margie, who squealed happily before scrambling back behind her. Margie carefully brushed Georgina’s long, brown hair while Christina fetched some ribbons from the dresser in the corner. Georgina hummed, tying her laces, as the girls began to braid her hair back into two plaits. It was their morning ritual, really. They’d braid and do each other’s hair. The little girls especially liked to braid flowers and feathers into Georgina’s hair--- said it made her look prettier. 

She could feel a few flowers in there now--- and the way Margie was giggling only confirmed that.

“All done!” Christina finally squeaked, scooting back from her older sister. Georgina felt back in her hair, running her fingers over the dried flowers in her braids with a smile.

“Thank you, Chrissy. Margie.” She stood up, twirling a moment, before laughing. “Go get Elvis and Olive, okay? We’ve gotta go take care of the chickens!” The two girls looked at each other again before nodding, Christina taking Margie’s hand before rushing out the door, calling for their little brother and the only other child. Olive was Miss Cara and Mister Thomas’s only living child now--- the younger sister of the son they lost.

(They didn’t talk about him. No one talked about what happened when the end actually came--- just that they lost people and what they did afterwards to repair everything. Rebuilt the big house. Started building other houses. Fixed the gardens and the barn and the coop.  _ We don’t dwell on the past, Georgina _ , Papa would say.  _ We let it go and move on. _ )

Again: It was Georgina’s job to watch them. Everyone else was too busy to. She was the oldest--- (though they thought Olive was, once, but then Georgina grew and well--- she was so big. And mature. She had to be the oldest.)--- so it was her job.

Stepping outside once more the girl smiled, breathing in the hot summer air and set off towards the barn. She could hear Mister Thomas talking as he tended to the pigs and sheep. Lily Anne was in the garden and Saul and Remus has left the house to head out of the mountains on a supply run.

They were looking for more livestock, Papa said. Or survivors. Their only cow had died a month ago and they weren’t sure what they’d do for milk now--- or meat since the pigs hadn’t had any babies yet. They were living off canned food and salted meat and vegetables. 

Not that Georgina didn’t like the food! She didn’t know any difference, honestly. 

Ahead of her she could see the chicken coop--- with the kids around it- and whooped, speeding up her walk. They waved and she waved back.

Time to let the chickens out--- time to get to work.

 

* * *

  
It was during supper when Miss Ellen finally came down. Mama had made a big, special meal as a celebration for the baby’s birthday. She had even made a cake! Georgina didn’t know what that was--- but her siblings and Olive seemed so happy that she was sure it was good. 

They were all crowded around the dining table, waiting for Papa to pray so they could eat, when footsteps echoed down the stairs--- and Ellen appeared at the end of the stairs, a little bundle in her arms. Mister Thomas was on his feet in an instant, hovering near Ellen to help her to the table while Mama chided about her being up too soon.

The adults were all talking now and, Miss Ellen sounded so weak--- but Georgina wasn’t paying that much attention. Her eyes were on the little bundle in Miss Ellen’s arms instead, which was moving around and making quiet, cooing noises. If she strained she could see a little nose, little eyes, and a swath of black hair poking out from the blankets.

Georgina’s heart soared.

“Is that her?” She blurted out, standing up in her chair to strain her neck to look closer. Miss Ellen laughed, helped to a seat by Mister Thomas and Miss Cara, and nodded. “This is Mary, that’s right.”

_ Mary _ . 

“A good name,” Papa said, and smiled towards the two. “We’re all happy for you, Ellen.”

Conversation returned to normal, everyone talking about the baby and laughing and calling her beautiful. Papa said prayer and then they started eating--- but the whole time Georgina was distracted, staring at the little baby across the table. Pride couldn’t even touch what she felt--- it was something else entirely.

_ (Yours. She’s part of you.) _

And she couldn’t help but wonder--- had she ever been that little?

  
She wished she had someone--- her first family that she didn’t remember or know anymore--- to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter! sorry about that! but this is just an introductory chapter so you can get a feel for the character and what world she's in. this is georgina who is a personification--- the usa's heir--- but she was born after the end so she doesn't know that.
> 
> her foster family is a group of religious end of the world preppers who found her and took her in and raised her since then. they know something is--- off about her but they don't talk about it. they all live in the appalachian mountains.


End file.
